


Take Care to Remember Your Name

by sydnisan



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Blood, Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex, Ramsay is his own warning, Tooth Removal, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2018-06-10 07:41:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6946096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sydnisan/pseuds/sydnisan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Theon refuses to play along with Ramsay's games and is reminded of the consequences</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take Care to Remember Your Name

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to loveyourcrookedneighbour and tender-vittles who helped to edit this!

_I am Theon Greyjoy. Prince of Winterfell. Heir to the Iron Islands. I am Theon Greyjoy._ He had been repeating it in his head for days until it had become a mantra, even more than that, it had become his only link to his old life and to his sanity. Here in this squalid dungeon, both of those things seemed so distant, like a memory from a dream. Could he really be stuck here forever? Theon let out a small whimper at the thought of being stuck here with _him_ forever. He wouldn't let that happen; he couldn't. And yet, what could he do? All Theon could do was wait for somebody to rescue him, or for Ramsay to let him go. As if that would ever happen. A dry smirk ghosted over his gaunt face, an echo of his old smiles. Ramsay had tried to beat the smiles out of him, but Balon Greyjoy's son and heir wasn't going to give in that easily. _I am Theon Greyjoy. Prince of Winterfell. Heir to the Iron Islands. I am Theon Greyjoy._ _I am Ironborn._

He felt the muscles in his left arm begin to tighten ominously. _No. No. No. No. No._ He pulled against his restraints, hoping movement might prevent the oncoming cramp, but it was too late. Pain spread through his arm and squeezed at his shoulder. He felt his hand spasm and his fingers – well, what was left of them – begin to twitch wildly. Within moments, the pain had subsided, leaving only a dull ache. This was the second time today, but, being tied to the cross, it was to be expected. Besides, cramps were the least of his worries. Theon knew all too well of the horrors he could be subjected to... He involuntarily glanced at his mangled hand. The stump where his pinky finger had been was still coated in dried blood, brown and cracked. He squeezed his eyes shut and began to repeat his mantra.

A door slammed at the top of the stairwell. There were footsteps now, fast, heavy, and unmistakably Ramsay's. Theon whimpered again and turned his face away, hoping perhaps that Ramsay would not be able to see the fear plastered on his face, but he knew it was futile. Ramsay always saw, and Ramsay always knew. Theon's stomach was twisted into knots. He worried that he would end up with its contents on the floor somehow. The door moved slowly. It was on purpose. Theon was all too familiar with Ramsay’s flare for the dramatic. The bastard was trying to scare him, and much to Theon's disappointment, it was working. He tried his best to put on an air of steely determination and confidence, but if Ramsay noticed when he entered, he did not show it.

"What did you get up to this afternoon, Reek?" he asked mockingly as he looked his prisoner up and down. The affable tone in his voice was a poor omen. "I hope you didn't have too much fun while I was away."

Theon noticed then that Ramsay had fresh blood spattered on his face in droplets the size of pinpricks. His hands were altogether more messy, streaked with blood and dirt. He must have been out hunting again. No matter how awful his situation was, Theon reminded himself, at least he was still alive. Things were not without hope. Somebody would come – Robb or even Asha. They had not forgotten him. At least, he hoped they hadn't. It was a thought too upsetting to contemplate and he quickly turned his attention back to Ramsay. His thoughts were too terrible, and the danger too immediate.

"After all, Reek, I intend to have some fun with you myself,” Ramsay hummed.

Ramsay cut a large, imposing figure. A cruel smile flickered across his face as he stepped forward and from his pocket brought out a thin, gleaming blade that made Theon's insides tighten still further.

"I've had such a long day, and I’m afraid I’m still not satisfied. You will help me with that, won’t you, pet?” Ramsay's lips curved further as he spoke, whilst Theon remained in stubborn silence. "So here's a choice for you…. Think of it as a another game… You do like my games don’t you, Reek? You can either give me what I want or I can choose a new part of you to send off to your sister….”

Ramsay seemed distracted by his own fantasy for a moment. He twirled his knife casually in his hand, the smooth steel catching the torchlight. “I wonder how she found your fingers, now… You did tell me she seemed rather fond of them that first time you met.”

Theon stuck out his chin obstinately. The mention of his time with her filled him with rage. "Don’t, talk about her like that,” he snapped, his confidence having returned, if only in a burst. “And don’t call me Reek…. That isn’t my name.”

Ramsay chuckled and traced Theon's now trembling jawline with his calloused fingers. "We'll see about that,” he replied with a smug and throaty voice, once again moving closer to Theon. They were inches from each other now. Theon could feel the heat radiating from Ramsay's sinewy body, and a downwards glance confirmed Ramsay's arousal.

 _I am Theon Greyjoy. Prince of Winterfell. Heir to the Iron Islands. I am Theon Greyjoy._ No matter how many times he repeated his mantra, he was painfully aware that it would not save him from what was about to happen.

Ramsay leaned in for a kiss, his surprisingly soft lips brushing over Theon's. He placed one of his hands behind Theon's head as if to hold it in place, and kissed him again, harder this time. He felt Ramsay's tongue attempting to push its way into his mouth, but Theon's teeth were firmly clenched, a barricade against the attack. Ramsay pulled away, a look of patronising reproach on his face masking the cruel anticipation beneath.

"You would deny your lord his pleasure?" he asked with an incredulous scoff.

Theon couldn't let this happen, not to him. He was ironborn. A prince! To allow himself to be treated like a whore by this man without even resisting was unthinkable. Building up all the courage he could muster, he spat in Ramsay's ugly face.

"You're no lord – you're a bastard!" Theon croaked. His voice was weak from dehydration, but he had said it.

With those words, all the mocking affection disappeared from Ramsay's place, leaving only unbridled rage. His knife flew to Theon's throat before he could even flinch. The point pressed uncomfortably at the soft skin of his neck as Ramsay's other hand grabbed his face and brought it to him.

"How dare you?" He hissed, venom in his voice.

The blade dug into Theon slightly, drawing blood. A single droplet ran down his chest and disappeared in the tattered rags that were once his shirt.

"I am a lord to you. Say it! Call me your lord!" Ramsay waited expectantly with wide, piercing eyes.

Theon wanted to look away, to escape his gaze, but Ramsay's hands still held his head firmly in place. He remained silent in defiance. Ramsay’s grip became a vice, the knife digging deeper into his skin.

"Say it," he repeated through gritted teeth.

Theon said nothing. He refused to break.

The knife left his throat and Theon sighed with relief, unaware his torment was not yet over. The knife was still in Ramsay's hands, glinting in the light just as before.

"I can see now, Reek, that I have been going about this the wrong way. You don't respond to commands because you have not yet been trained." He smiled. "You need to understand the consequences of insolence." 

He lifted a bloody finger to Theon's lips and traced the curve of his mouth almost lovingly. "Being able to speak is a privilege, and yet you use your mouth to refuse my kiss, offer disrespect, and spit at your lord and master."

Theon's mind was racing. What was he going to do? Cut out his tongue? Surely not. Panic seized him at this thought. Ramsay wouldn't do that, but one look at his mangled hands was enough to assure Theon that he would. The thought of not being able to speak was too much. He began to tug at his restraints as fear took hold, but to no avail. He felt tears brimming in his eyes and desperately blinked them back, determined not to let Ramsay see, no matter how frightened he was.

"Oh no, don't worry, pet. I'm not going to cut out your tongue," he said, as if he had read Theon's mind. Ramsay leaned in until his lips were brushing Theon's ear, the warmth of his breath causing goosebumps to erupt over his skin.

"If I did that, I wouldn't be able to hear you beg, and what a pity that would be," he whispered.

 _I will never beg for him,_ Theon told himself, but this time he was too scared to say it. Something dreadful was about to happen to him, and he wasn't about to make it worse. It was then that he realised he was shaking, visibly. He hoped Ramsay hadn't noticed, but a look at his insidious expression told him otherwise.

"What are you going to do then, hm?" Theon asked, trying to feign confidence. Unfortunately his voice shook almost as much as his body.

Ramsay made no reply, and instead sauntered over to a table in the corner of the room, which he lifted with ease and brought over to Theon. The table held dozens of tools, some of them shining silver, others rusty and jagged. Ramsay made a show of examining each one, picking the right tool for the job, whatever that was. He ran his fingers over each one before finally deciding on a pair of heavy iron pliers.

An idea formed in Theon's mind of what was about to happen.

"Open wide, pet," he said. When Theon did not comply, he used brute strength to force his mouth open.That was when Theon began to scream. He knew it would do nothing. People may hear, they may even feel sorry for him, but they would not intervene. Nobody was coming to help.

Then, with anticipation twinkling in his icy eyes, Ramsay took the pliers to one of Theon's front teeth and clamped them down. He wrenched the tooth out in one swift movement. White hot pain exploded in Theon's mouth, searing, hurtling through his gums until he was sure he would pass out. But he remained awake, blood and screams pouring from his mouth.

For a few moments, Ramsay seemed content to stand and admire his handiwork, a proud smirk on his face as Theon’s cries echoed off the cold stone walls. Theon looked at Ramsay pleadingly, his frail body heaving with sobs as he tried desperately to ignore the pain. He couldn't speak; he couldn't even think. He had never felt so much pain in his life.

Ramsay seemed content at first to watch him cry. Eventually, however, he began to tire and silenced Theon with a blow to the face.

A dull yet painful ache settled in Theon's jaw on top of his present agony, but all the same, he only whimpered quietly, too weak now to disobey.

"Shall we try again now?" asked Ramsay.

He pressed his mouth to Theon's without waiting for a response. Blood mingled with saliva as Ramsay's kiss deepened. He entwined his fingers in Theon's dark curls, bringing him closer still. His warm, wet tongue probed inside Theon's mouth until he found what he was looking for and poking into the newly made gap in Theon's teeth, digging gleefully into the tender flesh. Theon gave a low, anguished moan and began to cry, not caring now whether Ramsay saw his weakness. Tears travelled down his bony cheeks and settled on Ramsay's own face, and as they did, Theon felt the hardness in Ramsay's breeches pressing against him. His revulsion grew, but he closed his eyes and tried his best to quell the nausea within him. If Ramsay were happy, if Ramsay were satisfied, perhaps he would not hurt him any more.

At last, the kiss ended. "Now see how much better that was?" said Ramsay, giving him an encouraging pat on the cheek. It made Theon wince.

"I think it's time to try something a bit different, hm?" Ramsay began to undo Theon's restraints, his hands first, then his feet. He stepped to the side as Theon fell to his hands and knees, too weak to support himself. Theon looked up at Ramsay with blood dribbling from his mouth.

"Please," he begged.

Ramsay knitted his eyebrows in false confusion. "Please, what?" He shook his head. "Nevermind. On your knees, Reek."

Theon obediently rose to his knees and waited for Ramsay's next command with his head hung, though he had a good idea of what it would be. His fears were confirmed when he saw Ramsay fumbling with the laces of his breeches, which promptly fell to the floor.

Petting Theon's hair gently, Ramsay said, "Come on now, you'll have to look up. You need not fear. Only bad pets get punished, and you're not going to be bad anymore, are you?"

Part of him knew it was a lie, that Ramsay would hurt him no matter what he did or said, but he wanted, even needed, to believe that if he could just satisfy Ramsay, everything would be okay, and so Theon looked into his eyes, trying his best to ignore the large member before him.

"What would you have me do?"

"Suck my cock, of course," he said with a laugh.

It would be over soon, Theon told himself as he grasped the base of Ramsay's shaft and guided the tip into his bloody, swollen mouth. He felt the taste of salt in his mouth and reluctantly swirled his tongue over the head, causing Ramsay to curl his fists into Theon's wavy brown hair and thrust in further. Theon gagged in surprise as Ramsay's length hit the back of his throat; he grasped Ramsay's hip in desperation with his free hand, the other still stroking his cock.

Ramsay gave a guttural moan as Theon struggled not to throw up, as he tried his best to ignore the pain pulsing in his mouth and to instead give Ramsay what he wanted.

Evidently he was doing a good job because Ramsay rolled his hips and gritted his teeth, growling reflexively in pleasure. The light of the torches lining the walls of the dungeon cast a warm glow over Ramsay's skin and created flickering shadows on his body.

"Fuck," he grunted, and struck his arm out in ecstacy, clutching the cross with his hand. His arm was firm and taut, the muscles flexing and his fingers digging into the wood.

As he continued to pleasure Ramsay, to his humiliation and horror, Theon felt his own cock begin to grow hard. Shame welled up inside him. He could handle pain, and he could handle being forced to service Ramsay, but he could not handle enjoying it. He couldn't handle being Ramsay's whore, and yet despite this, he continued to feel pleasure building in him. His cheeks flushed, Theon turned his attentions back to Ramsay, whose movements grew more erratic until finally Theon felt him come.

"Swallow it, Reek. I was kind enough to come in your mouth, now show me how much you appreciate it," Ramsay said to his spluttering prisoner.

"Oh." His fat lips curved into a grin when he saw Theon's arousal. "It seems you really do appreciate it."

He stepped towards Theon and knelt beside him, close enough that his hot breath tickled Theon's ear and sent a shiver of anticipation down his spine, which Theon tried in vain to suppress. His face grew redder as Ramsay took his cock in his hand and began to stroke it tantalisingly slowly.

"Do you like that?" he whispered mockingly. "Do you like being my pet, my whore?"

"Please..." Tears ran afresh from Theon's eyes, but they were now tears of shame rather than pain.

As if reading his mind, Ramsay spoke. "What would your father say if he could see you now?" His grip tightened as he began to stroke harder and faster. "Prince Theon Greyjoy, heir to Iron Islands, lustfully giving himself up."

Theon did not want to think of how Balon Greyjoy might react. He could almost picture the disgust on his father's face. He could even imagine what he might say – that he was no true Greyjoy, that he would never be one.

Powerless to stop Ramsay, Theon bucked his hips and gasped. "Please," he said with a strangled moan.

"Of course, you're not really Theon Greyjoy though, are you? Theon Greyjoy was a prince, a warrior. You're just a weak little worm."

Ramsay paused to press a wet kiss on Theon's neck, grazing his teeth along the skin before continuing.

"What's your name?"

Before he could answer, he came. Warm liquid spurted out over Ramsay's hands and onto the floor, and Theon's tears fell freely.

"What is your name?" Ramsay repeated, softly this time, as though he were talking to a frightened deer.

Theon's will to resist had left with his dignity. "Reek," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

"Yes, yes you are." Pride shone in Ramsay's pale eyes as he looked at his sniffling prisoner. Theon had been at his mercy for months, but now he was truly his. He belonged to Ramsay – mind, body, and soul. Theon had been broken, and they both knew it.

Ramsay laid Theon's head against his chest and cradled him. "Take care to remember your name."

Growing up with the Starks, he had shed his Greyjoy identity. When he returned to the Iron Islands, he was forced to rid himself of his Stark identity. But despite it all, he had still been Theon. His limbs felt leaden and heavy, but inside he was hollow, as though his very core had been ripped from him. None of this felt real; he didn't feel real. 

Ramsay held his hand in front of Theon's face. "Now, clean this up for me and we'll have the maester take a look at your mouth."

Theon Greyjoy might have refused to clean Ramsay's hands, might have even spat at him, or repeated his mantra to remind himself who he was, but that mantra was gone now, and so was Theon Greyjoy. He was Reek. _Reek, Reek, it rhymes with freak._

 


End file.
